


Tactus Mortis

by Sam_Nook



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cardverse, Death/life AU, Human AU, M/M, USUK - Freeform, abcchallenge, arthur's cursed, inspired by the word chthonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:02:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25710298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Nook/pseuds/Sam_Nook
Summary: This was supposed to be the night. Arthur could almost hear the old man's words as he stared bitterly into the night. 'Your curse will be healed when you ascend to the throne.' Perhaps, even the man had been wrong. That's what the dead rose in his lap seemed to say. Maybe, he would never be able to be healed.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Kudos: 30





	Tactus Mortis

**Author's Note:**

> ABC Challenge #3
> 
> Chthonic which means concerning, belonging to, or inhabiting the underworld.

Arthur stared down at the wilted rose in his lap. His hands gripped it tightly, as if that would be able to keep his emotions at bay. It wasn't exactly helpful, but it gave him something to focus on besides the loud music spilling from the open windows of the ballroom and the dull ache of disappointment. 

This was supposed to be the night. Arthur could almost hear the old man's words as he stared bitterly into the night. 'Your curse will be healed when you ascend to the throne.' Perhaps, even the man had been wrong. That's what the dead rose in his lap seemed to say. Maybe, he would never be able to be healed. 

With one last rancorous sigh of frustration, Arthur threw the flower into the darkness. He watched as it sank to the bottom of a nearby pool of water. He fell back against the grass, ignoring the way they dried up under his fingers. At his side, his silver crown laid on a pair of blue silk gloves. 

Briefly, his thoughts turned back to the gala he had abandoned in favor of brooding in the safety of the royal gardens. He knew, now as a newly coronated Queen, he could no longer afford to sneak away from events even with his curse, but the temptation was too high. Out here, he was just Arthur, and he couldn't hurt anyone but the plants. In there, there was always the risk that Arthur could touch someone and accidentally cause their death, and that scared Arthur more than anything. More than the fact that the oracles had been wrong. 

Life had been simpler before the curse. Of course, looking back, Arthur could see hints of his curse since his birth. His birth had ended in the death of his mother, after all. When being blessed soon after, the oracle warned that the gods had given the touch of death. No one at the time knew that that meant, but it didn't take long for the curse to manifest itself. 

]It had started when he was three. He had been allowed in the royal gardens for the first time, and as he explored the thousands of plants, he had left behind a trail of wilted flowers. The palace blamed it on the gardeners or freak weather, but soon it was obvious it had to do with Arthur. No one spoke of it, though, except for the whispered rumors exchanged between servants. 

Arthur had been seven when he killed his first animal. It had been a young bird that hopped around one of the garden's courtyard. Somehow Arthur had been able to hold it, and the bird grew lifeless and cold as he carried it to show his father. His father had immediately taken him to the oracles. 

"The Prince has the touch of death, _tactus mortis_. He will kill anything he touches with his hands."

And with those words, Arthur's life changed. His days in the sun were quickly replaced with days in his suite; his contact with others became limited, and the gloves soon became his only protection against his curse. 

Arthur had been fourteen when he snuck out of the castle to visit the oracles' monastery. He had gone with the hopes of finding answers, but had instead met a mysterious man cloaked in darkness. He had froze in his spot, his questions nothing but a jumbled mess in his throat, and waited. 

"Your curse will be healed when you ascend the throne." A quiet, almost familiar voice had told him. "The oracles cannot answer your questions, young prince, you should leave."

Arthur could have sworn he saw himself in the shadows cloaking the man, but he left before he could figure it out. 

Now, Arthur was confident the cloaked man had been wrong. He had ascended the throne, and finally, after five years of waiting, had snuck outside before anyone could stop him. He had almost hesitated as he removed the silk gloves and plucked a thornless Spadian Rose from its vine. For a moment, nothing happened, and he smiled in relief, but like every other flower, it wilted and died in his hands. 

]His curse would never end. 

"Hey, Arthur. There you are." Arthur shot up, nearly falling in the nearby pond as he did, to find himself next to the new King of Spades. Alfred's mark as a Royal had only shown up after the last king, Arthur's grandfather, had died. Only after a year of training had Alfred been deemed worthy enough to take the crown. Arthur hadn't even met his King-to-be until a month before their coronation. It wasn't traditional, but things had to be reorganized because of Arthur's curse. They didn't want to take the risk until it was necessary. 

Alfred looked the part of a newly crowned king, especially in the light from the ballroom. He at least looked more confident than Arthur felt. His smile was natural and ever-present, and Arthur had a hard time keeping up with it. He had been lucky to be given a king that seemed to perfect Arthur's imperfections. Arthur almost wished he could have been allowed to touch Alfred. 

"Yes, here I am." Arthur murmured dryly. 

"I've been looking for you. It's a tradition that we have to share one dance tonight. I promise they taught me how to dance." Alfred offered Arthur a lopsided grin and gestured at the ballroom. 

Arthur paled, his palms clammy as he reached for his gloves and crown. "Alfred, I don't think that's a good idea. I'm sure someone is willing to dance with you. I believe King Francis was just asking about you. He was out here..." with a lady in his arms, but Alfred didn't need to know that. 

Alfred remained stubborn; his lips curled into a determined line. "Yeah, I'll dance with him later. Come on; you're my queen." 

"No. Perhaps later, but I don't think it's a wise choice, Alfr-" Arthur's voice broke off as Alfred grabbed his hand. For a moment, all he could register was how warm Alfred's hand was before his heart sank. His mind raced, and he stood there, frozen in his spot; he had just killed his king. 

Arthur had just killed his king. There was nothing he could do about it, and once someone else found out, he couldn't exactly keep it a secret, it would be over for Arthur as well. He would most likely be tried in court and most likely sentenced to treason. The kingdom would be without their leaders for who knows how long, and it would all be Arthur's fault. 

He wanted to sob, scream, or run. The worst, the one thing he could never let happen, had happened. 

Except, Alfred was still breathing. His cheeks remained red, and his hand was still warm against Arthur's. 

"I don't understand," Arthur whispered as he finally stumbled for a coherent thought, "you should have died."

Arthur didn't hear what Alfred whispered, but instead, he reached out to touch Alfred's sweaty cheek. For a moment, he just stared. Somehow, he had managed to touch something alive, something breathing and living, and it hadn't died. He had somehow broken his curse. 

Arthur studied Alfred's tanned face; his hands trembled as he traced the Alfred's lips. Briefly, as his thoughts stirred like his stomach, he wondered if this was what the man had meant. That maybe he wouldn't be able to break the curse, but someone could for him, or perhaps Alfred was just somehow different. Whatever it meant, Arthur almost sobbed. 

Here, he was touching someone. 

Perhaps Alfred sensed the confusion or felt the tremble in his hands; he tightened his grip on Arthur's hands. It seemed that Alfred struggled for an explanation too, but eventually, he spoke with a hint of fondness. "Without life, there can be no death, and without death, there can be no life. They have always meant to coexist." 

Briefly, Arthur wondered if this was what the man had meant; if this was the end of his curse or the beginning of something new. Almost, as if answering his unspoken question, Arthur caught a flash of green eyes and a smile. Deep down, a new sense of peace seemed to settle. 

_There once was a story between lovers that were never meant to be,_  
_for life and death were very much like you and me..._


End file.
